


The Child of the Watch

by AdikaOfMandalore



Series: Te Galaar Bal Te Beroya [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Watch (Star Wars), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Episode: s02e03 The Heiress, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Mandalorian!Reader - Freeform, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Planet Mandalore (Star Wars), Spoilers, The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29217309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdikaOfMandalore/pseuds/AdikaOfMandalore
Summary: After losing your mother at the hands of the Death Watch, you’re none too happy at the idea of cooperating with a Child of the Watch.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/Original Character(s), Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Series: Te Galaar Bal Te Beroya [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2145171
Kudos: 15





	The Child of the Watch

«He’s one of them – you hiss through gritted teeth, one hand hovering over your thigh holster, glancing at Koska to see she tensed up as much as you did, plump lips pressed in a hard line and narrow eyes unmoving. – He’s a Child of the Watch.»

«A what?» A snarl breaking through the vocoder of his pure beskar helmet, the man in front of your little group of three clutches the strange creature closer to his chest and gets up. He’s still unstable on his feet, but, this time, you don’t help him regain his balance nor offer him comforting words.

The sky of Trask is still clear and blue, the fishing boat rolling placidly in the deep green waters within coast range, but all you see is the black smoke and the blaster fire polluting, scorching, the plaza air, the cobblestones scraping your knees as you shake desperately the body already growing cold under you.

«A Child of the Watch – Bo-Katan repeats, tone level and clear, and you force yourself to the present, your cobalt helmet harshly digging your underarm and side, where you’re currently keeping it. Your general and princess raises her pointed chin and stares at the blackened visor of her opponent, prideful and far from being intimidated by his towering presence. – I am Bo-Katan of Clan Kryze. I was born on Mandalore and fought in the Purge. I am thelast of my line. And you, you are one of the Children of the Watch, a cult of religious zealots that broke away from Mandalorian society and whose goal was to re-establish the ancient way through acts of terrorism and violence.»

He lets her finish, you’ll give him that, but his next words don’t come as a surprise.

«There’s only one way. The Way of the Mandalore» he all but spits, forcefully, before holding the creature against one of his pauldrons and taking off with his jet pack. You roll your eyes, a hateful grimace twisting your lips as you watch him rapidly disappear on the horizon, until he’s nothing but a microscopic black dot against the dark outline of the coastal town. Good riddance.

Or so you believe.

«Go after him» Bo-Katan says, after a sorrowful sigh, turning towards you.

You nearly do a double-take, disbelief etched on every fibre of your armoured body; taking a step back as if she hit you, you look at her, mouth agape.

«What? No! Let him leave, we don’t need the help of some terrorist zealot!»

«He’s lost and needs guidance.»

«So?»

«I once was part of the Death Watch. And so were Koska and Axe – she reminds you, jaw set and jade eyes similar to durasteel, set ablaze with a commanding light. – Does it mean we are your enemy, too?»

«You left the Death Watch and did all you could to stop them.»

«I did. – She nods, once, briefly. – And you gave me another chance because of that, am I right?»

«Yes.» Your tone is curt, for you already know what she’s about to say. The woman calmly puts her helmet on the deck floor near her feet and grabs you by the shoulder, her hold firm, her crystalline eyes boring in yours with an intensity that would have made you dizzy in any other occasion.

«Bo-Katan-»

«Go after him. That’s an order, Galaar.» Her voice leaves no possibility for a retort.

You stare at her, teeth clenched, nostrils flaring in rage, but you eventually drop your gaze and nod. It’s brief and harsh, but she lets go of you with a bob of her own, satisfied.

«He’s probably going to need help, after this mess» Koska finally interjects, pointing at the massacre surrounding the three of you, the sugary, revolting stench of ruin starting to sip through the briny air of the open sea, the muddy blood drying over the corpses.

«Grant his and his son’s safety and then bring them to our hideout.» Bo-Katan commands once again your attention, bending down to retrieve her headgear.

«Yes, sir.» You put your own helmet back on, forcefully swallowing the next protest and rigidly nodding once again.

«Go, you already wasted enough time.»

––

It’s dusk by the time you reach the port and search for him. Finding the Child of the Watch is ridiculously easy, what with his unembellished beskar armour glinting in the setting sun, but spying him without being seen, by contrast, proves to be surprisingly difficult. You know he knows you’re following him, but neither of you approaches the other.

You keep yourself at distance, more often than not perched on the roofs of the terne buildings or the tops of the cranes, studying him as he walks around aimlessly, his strange kid securely in his arms, body tensed and ready to spring at the first sign of danger.

The craftsmanship of his armour is remarkable and he’s clearly well built, under all those layers of protection; tall and lean, with broad shoulders and assertive strides, he reminds you of a feline.

Bo-Katan has always had a keen eye for warriors and potential allies, so no doubt she noticed it too. You can’t help but wonder if her insistence on helping him really is just good-heartedness or if it doesn’t come from a hidden agenda, instead.

«Oh, where are you going, you di'kut?» you mumble to yourself, as he calmly makes his way towards the Quarren territory. He doesn’t know the different districts the town is divided into, so you can’t really blame him for that, but Jorho’s gang will take his bold presence as further insult, after their mates have been slaughtered and the ship blown up to pieces.

You don’t stop him, figuring that, if you want him to trust you enough to willingly follow you to the refuge, there really is no better way than saving his ass from a group of furious Quarren.

––

And, sure enough, half a dozen of armed humanoid aliens with squid-like heads surround him not too long after he walked down the main street towards the dock, well into their territory.

«Hey!» To your astonishment, Jorho herself walks out of the shadows nesting where the lampposts light doesn’t reach.

The Child of the Watch slows down to a stop and inclines his helmet at her, waiting. You perch yourself over the edge of a street lamp not too far from them and hold your breath.

«You killed my brother.» The queen of Trask’s black market continues, swaying confidently until she’s not three feet away from him and chuckles darkly when he asks to be left alone.

«I don’t think you get it, Mando – she spits, slipping what appear to be a paddle or a bat – it’s hard to tell, with the light of the lamps barely touching it – from her belt and slowly swinging it with easy, confident flickers of her wrist. You notice how he starts moving his helmet from one side to the other, studying the female Quarren and the rest of his opponents. Calculating, calmly. – You killedmybrother and now I’m gonna kill your little pet, as a payback.»

Both you and the Child of the Watch tense at her last words, neither one of you expecting for her to threaten the little creature so openly.

You jump from the lamppost and land silently behind her, but Jorho is too lost in her minacious tirade to notice and, by the time her men do see you mere inches from her broad back, it’s already too late.

«He didn’t kill your brother – you murmur softly, conspiratory, waiting for her to turn around with a startle. You smile at the flash of panic in her small, black eyes upon finding your tinted T visor nearly pressed to her mug and ready yourself for what’s to come. – I did.»

You don’t kill if not strictly necessary, so you merely activate the minuscule electrodes in your leather gloves and, holding her large, tentacular head between your hands, you stun her unconscious. Her squat body hasn’t hit the concrete, yet, that her men are on you, harpoons sharp and deadly pointed at you. Thinking it over, waiting for him to get into trouble to play hero hasn’t been one of your brightest ideas. Well, too late to step to the side, now.

Spinning to the left, you avoid the first hit and block the next attack with the front of your helmet, before grabbing the shoulders of your third adversary and using his knees to jump on his neck, wrapping your legs around it and pulling backwards to topple the both of you to the ground. You stupefy him and spring back on your feet… and find the sharp tip of a harpoon pointed right under your chin. You’re about to attack him, when he crumples to the ground with a grunt. What the kriff? You spin around, meeting the T visor of the Child of the Watch, his blaster drawn and fuming.

«Get the child to safety, di'kut!» you roar, when you see the man shooting at another Quarren, the bundle of brown clothes that is the tiny creature held close to his chest. Is he really in the middle of a fight with a kid in his arms? You would stare at him, incredulous, if two Quarren weren’t currently trying to poke you to death with their kriffing harpoons.

Kicking one in the chest with your reinforced boot and sending him tottering against a pile of pallets, you block the blow of the other and manage to rip the weapon from his claws, hitting him on the head with its blunted edge.

You slip to the side to avoid the hit of an alien appeared seemingly out of nowhere, only to end right in the muscular arms of another opponent. Maker, how many arethey? You grunt when he squeezes hard, immobilizing you, and, as the Child of the Watch fires the one that was about to stab you with his sharp fishgig, you drop the stolen weapon still in your hands and start your loyal jet pack, flying the both of you against the wall of the near dry kiln. Concrete dust falls upon your bodies, the plaster disintegrated by the force of your crash, and you hit his face with the back of your helmet and step away as soon as his arms are limply leaving your sides with an ugly crack of his frontal bone. You lift your vambrace, about to shoot an electrified dart on a Quarren that’s trying to get up, but the Child of the Watch precedes you. You turn to him with a huff.

«I had it under control.»

«Seemed that way» he deadpans, slipping the blaster back into his waist holster.

You stare at him, waiting for a thank you or, if anything, a nod of gratitude, but he just observes you in return, the kid cooing and moving his huge, dark eyes between your stalling forms. You roll your eyes with a hidden snarl on your lips. Well, what were you expecting from a Child of the Watch? You suppose it’s already something he didn’t just dart away.

«C'mon, we need to leave now. More will come and they’re going to be pissed.»

«They already were» he states, still not moving. You clench your fists on your hips and tilt your helmet, impatiently.

«They thought you were alone and underestimated the situation, di'kut. Next time, they’ll bring blasters and rifles and I’ve had enough of fights, for today. – You press a command on your right vambrace, the jet pack reactivating once again with a familiar whisper of fire. – So you either come with me or you take down a whole district on your own and with a kid in your arms.»

Not waiting for an answer, you swiftly take off.

If he doesn’t come willingly within the next seconds, you’ll have to stun him and drag his unconscious ass to the hideout, so you’d rather have the high ground, ret'lini; just in case. You’re already loading an electrified dart, when you hear the telltale sound of propulsion and he’s flying up, towards you, kid clutching for dear life the neck of his worn-out cape.

«Lead the way.»

––

The refuge was once a warehouse for the production of salt, built in the old – now abandoned – part of the harbour, next to a drain which muddy waters and sewage dive right into the sea, polluting it.

The outer walls, eaten away and corroded by decades of salty air, are now of an ugly rust colour and the stink surrounding the area is nearly unbearable, without the helmet filtering it, but it’s a roof on your head and hides you from possible threats.

«It smells bad and it’s not much, but it does its job» you shrug, more defensive than you’d like to admit, upon noticing the slight tilt of his helmet when you land not too far from the half collapsed wall on the east side of the building.

«Which is?» he asks, adjusting the hold on the small creature still in his arms.

«For starters, nobody would ever dream come looking for us, here.»

«Wonder why.»

«You’re the one to talk, Child of the Watch – you snap, stepping in front of him, your armoured chests brushing. – I heard stories about your people hiding in the sewers like rats.»

You study his subtle reaction at your charge and grimace.

«And so they’re true.»

«Our secrecy is our survival.»

«The Death Watch-»

«Hey, you think you’ll come inside any time soon?» A low, soothing voice interrupts your growing discussion and, when you spin towards the “entrance”, Axe is standing there, awfully pale and using what’s left of the wall for balance, but cocking his dark eyebrow eloquently at the two of you. You forget everything about the Child of the Watch and his small, weird creature and step at your friend’s side, your look of concern apparent, despite the dark blue helmet still hiding your face.

«Woves, what the kriff are you doing up? You should be resting.»

«If I stayed one more damn minute in that cot, I would have lost my mind – he grunts, letting you carefully circle his waist with your arms, his dark, febrile eyes pointed towards the beskar-clad man before you. – So this is the one?» he wonders, offering a small smile when the other visibly tenses at his words.

«You wanted me here – he proclaims, his breathy tone ice-cold. – Here I am. What do you want?»

«First thing first, offer you and the kiddo something warm to eat.»

At that, a pair of leaf-like green ears perk up and the creature coos towards your companion almost hopefully. You smile despite yourself and Axe coughs what it was meant to be a chuckle.

«What’s wrong with you?» the other man asks, confusedly tilting his helmet to one side. Axe tries to shrug and grunts in pain.

«Stormtroopers are getting better with their aim.»

«Or luckier.»

«Good for them, bad for me. Got shot to the side, right where the chestplate doesn’t reach. A little flaw of our armour design.»

«Tell me about it.»

You roll your eyes at their sudden comradery and sigh impatiently.

«I thought we were in a hurry.»

«Come now, Galaar'ika, I was merely being nice with our vod.»

You scoff and send him a dirty look from under your helmet, because like hell he’s your brother, but you opt for not saying anything and, after curtly gesturing for the Child of the Watch to follow you, you hold Axe closer to your side and turn around to enter the hideout.

«So, do you have a name or something we can call you?» Your brother in arms asks after a few moments of quietly walking along the corridor towards the drying room you now use to eat together and discuss missions.

«They just call me Mando» he murmurs, the vocoder of his helmet barely catching it.

«Well, you understand it’d be weird for us to call you that» Axe jokes, slightly turning his head towards the man walking behind you.

«I offer di'kut, it’s fitting» you grumble under your breath, helping him sit on one of the overturn boxes placed around the plank you use as table.

«Enough, Galaar. No other nickname you would like for us to use?»

«It won’t be necessary.» You glance up at the Child of the Watch and notice how both his pure beskar helmet and the kid’s round head turn left and right, curiously studying the high-ceiling room.

«If you say so.» Axe sighs, squeezing with a grimace his wounded side; you swat his hand away.

«What’s for dinner?»

«Soup and bread. Koska didn’t have time for a trip to the fish market, what with your little incursion.»

When you think your day couldn’t get any worse…

«Listen, is Bo-Katan going to discuss the plan right away?»

«Nah, I think after we stuffed ourselves with soup. Why?»

You glance at the other man and clench your jaw when you know your eyes meet.

«You better not have used all the clean water, again.»

«Hey, don’t look at me. It’s Koska that always uses it all up – Axe grins and you both know it’s a lie. – What about you, brother? Do you wish to wash the grim away? Don’t worry, you’ll have the room all for yourself, once Galaar, here, is done using it, so it’ll be safe for you to…» He motions at his bare face with a crooked smile. The other man hesitates and slowly bends down to put the kid to the ground, taking his time to grace the two of you with an answer.

«I- thank you. It’s very kind of you.» You’re taken aback by the sudden bashfulness of his tone, but you try not to think too much of it and turn around to leave the room, only to stop dead in your tracks when a curious coo by your feet catches your attention. You look down only to see that the man’s strange toddler waddled up to you and is now patting the reinforced tip of your boots, huge, starry eyes staring up at you, easily finding your gaze, despite your helmet, and not at all disconcerted by the absence of a face. Feeling the eyes of both Axe and the Child of the Watch on your back, you slowly get down on one knee and reach a hand for him to take.

«Does he have a name?» you thoughtlessly ask, letting the little one play with your leather glove and gently pulling away when he tries to suck on it.

«I don’t know.» It’s his cabur quiet answer.

Of course.

You scoff and softly pat the creature’s head, before getting back on your feet and leaving the room without so much of a parting word.

––

After having quickly washed with the moisture you collect and filter during the night and the bar of lemon soap you’ve stolen just the other day from one of your incursions at the market, you change into clean clothes and stop by the room your share with Koska – once an office or a small storage closet, perhaps –, leaving the armour near your sleeping cot to polish it before going to sleep. After that, you take your sweet time to join the others back in the drying room, since you’re still not ready to face Bo-Katan after your little altercation; not after she forced, commanded, you to basically babysit a man that grew up with your mother’s assassins and, if not for Bo-Katan herself, yours as well.

Humming the ancient hymn of Mandalore under your breath, you walk the dim-lit, narrow corridor and try to calm your nerves.

You respect Bo-Katan – you owe her your life, after all – and Koska and Axe are all but brothers, to you, but you weren’t raised to serve in the fighting corps of Sundari, so you often question orders or refuse to follow them blindly. That brought many tensions and harsh words between you and your general, Axe playing the peacemaker more often than not, but you’ve never been brave enough to go ahead with your threats and leave. And how could you? They are all you have left of home and taught you so much on how to move in a galaxy where Mandalorians are seen as nothing but myths – at best. They made you a warrior, a survivor, and, most importantly, they’re fighting to claim Mandalore back. Your place is with them, even when that means joining forces with the descendant of those that turned your life to ashes.

Tapping two fingers on the rusted wall as you slowly make your way towards the drying room, you can’t help but think about the Kyr'tsad'ad and his little foundling and the emotional bond that clearly ties their lives together. How bad of a person can he be, if he’s protecting that kid as one of his own? This question appears seemingly out of nowhere and gives you pause. Inevitably, your mind wanders back to your fight with the Quarren; he could have run – you told him to run – and yet he didn’t: he stayed and helped you.

Granted, he put the life of the little creature at risk, in doing so, but you have to give it to him, he’s not a hut'uun.

A shadow moves in your peripheral vision and you quickly spin around, teeth gritted and body tense, ready to spring into action. But the docile coo coming from below your knee-level makes you relax and you look down at the kid with bat-like ears and big, black eyes quickly toddling in your direction.

«Hey there, copikla. – You smile and, once again, bend down on one knee so that he can more easily see you. – What are you doing all alone? Does he know you’re here?»

With a soft chuckle at the sudden, guilty drop of his ears, you scoop him up – he weighs just as much as a Loth-cat cub – and let him curiously pat at your uncovered face with his three-fingered, tiny hands, the long, triangular claws barely grazing your skin.

You travelled the galaxy back and forth, but you’ve never seen another like him and you wonder where the Child of the Watch even found him.

«What are you?» you wonder out loud, cuddling him to your chest and gently getting up so as not to jostle him too much.

«Give him back to me.»

You turn toward the breathy, curt tone at your back and grimace as if you tasted something sour. The Child of the Watch is standing there, tall and shiny, with one glove hand extended towards you, demanding.

«Ask me nicely, first. Besides, he was wandering around all on his own and this isn’t exactly a baby-proof place, di'kut.»

He inclines his head and you arch an eyebrow, waiting for a comeback at your not-so-subtle accusation.

«What do you keep calling me?»

You blink, baffled by the question.

«What?»

«That word you keep using – he repeats, slowly, taking half a step in your direction, but stopping as soon as he sees how your body tenses up. – What is it?»

«You don’t know?»

His silence is a clear enough of an answer.

«You don’t speak Mando'a? – You scoff, losing your temper, at last, and gently putting the kid back on the ground, before fixing your flaming stare on the man before you. – You are no true Mandalorian. You are nothing but a pretender.» The Child of the Watch flinches and you know you hit a nerve.

«You don’t follow the Way – he nearly snarls in return, fists clenched tight at his sides. – You are the impostor.»

You would headbutt him, if you were wearing your helmet. How dares he?

«I was born on Mandalore. So were my parents and my ancestors before them. Your so called “way” doesn’t make you a Mandalorian.»

«You don’t have to be from Mandalore to be a Mandalorian. It’s not a race, it’s a creed.»

«Are you really patronising me about what it means to be a Mandalorian? Do you even know what the Creed entails? – You don’t let him talk. – In order to be a true Mandalorian, you must follow the Resol'nare, the Six Actions, central tenets of our culture. Education and armour, self-defence, our tribe, our language, our leader. All help us survive. We must educate our children as Mandalorians, obey the commands of Mandalore, speak Mando'a and defend our family, otherwise you are dar'manda, soulless. But I doubt they taught you that. No, all the Death Watch ever wanted was violence and to found a society of brainwashed warriors and religious zealots.» You harshly tap the insignia on his left shoulder armour plate, very much in a Death Watch fashion, and snarl.

«What are the rules of your way, mh? Never take off the helmet and then, what?»

«Enough.»

«Wearing a Mandalorian helmet doesn’t make you a Mandalorian» you insist, crowding him when he, too, covers the last few steps separating you. You’re not wearing your armour and are unarmed, but that doesn’t mean you’re defenceless; you’re a Mandalorian, you are a weapon.

«Enough» he hisses and now you’re so close to each other, your ragged breath is starting to fog his tinted visor.

«Or else?»

«Why do I always walk on you two arguing? See this grey hair? – You jump away from each other with a startle and turn towards Axe, who’s signing at his head with his forefinger and then at the both of you, pointedly, the small, green creature clutching at the neck of his shirt with a quiet coo. – The little one came calling for me with such urgency! Isn’t that right, verd'ika? How was the bath, vod?»

«It’s useless, Axe. He doesn’t speak our language» you spit, sending a dirty glare at the other man, who merely clenches and relaxes his hands, boiling anger radiating off of his beskar.

«Well, someone ought to teach him, then. And didn’t you once tell me you always wanted to become a teacher?»

«That was before an Airborne Trooper shot my mother right in front of me» you nearly hiss, before stomping away. You welcome the pain when you “accidentally” shoulder push the Child of the Watch as you walk past him.

––

The air in the room is tense, thick, and, you’re ready to bet on it, you could easily cut it with a vibroblade, if you’d only try to. The soup, it doesn’t come as a surprise, is tasteless and the bread to go with it, stale and as hard as rock, and you hesitate, before giving it to the kid when he waddles to you with pleading eyes.

The Child of the Watch, of course, isn’t eating, merely sitting on the box beside Axe, and you wonder how someone would starve themselves rather than taking off the helmet. Is that really the fate the Death Watch had in mind for Mandalore? And what about the little creature? Does he actually believe a wall of unreadable beskar and a stern black visor are ideal for the growth – both emotional and behavioural – of a baby?

You all see how his round eyes are devouring in pure wonderment and fascination your bare expressions, cooing and giggling whenever one of you look his way and pull faces at him.

«I’ll keep some for you when you feel like eating.» Axe, ever the diplomatic, is the first to break the tense silence surrounding your little group of six, and you briefly look away from the toddler now in Bo-Katan’s lap – your general mindlessly intent in tickling one of his petal-ears to make him titter – to look at the faceless man just in time to see his grateful nod. You shake your head at yourself with a sneer, still fuming for your earlier discussion. Deep down, you know he’s not a bad man and you’re starting to feel bad for what you accused him of, but you’re also too proud to be the one to apologize first. Something tells you neither will he.

«Can you pass me some water?» you ask Koska, eventually glancing away from him and pretending you don’t feel his hidden eyes immediately setting on you like two burning coals. Clenching your jaw, you thank the dark-haired woman in a curt tone and take a few sips from the cup she just passed you.

The rest of your humble dinner goes much in the same way, taut and uneventful, save from when the kid loudly burps, before whining to go sit on his cabur’s lean legs. You envy the way he falls asleep within five minutes, tiny body curled up against the man stomach, softly snoring now and then, and find yourself smiling at the quiet sigh leaving the man’s helmet, before he’s gently, protectively, draping a gloved hand over his little back.

«I say it’s time we finally discuss business, yes?» Axe says not too long after, scratching at his wounded side, before guiltily dropping his hand when he meets your glare.

«Are we all finished with dinner? Good.» Bo-Katan sits straighter on her upturned box and observes each of you with her piercing, jade eyes, nimble fingers playing with the rim of her empty soup plate.

«As we all know, Trask is a black market port – she starts, her gaze now focused on the black visor of the man sitting right in front of her, on the opposite side of the makeshift table. – They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our home world. Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mand'alor one the throne.» She then explains, pausing for her words to sip in.

«That planet is cursed. – The Child of the Watch retorts, looking at the four of you as if you’re all crazy to even think of retaking your home back. – Anyone who goes there dies.»

«Is that what they taught you? – You can’t help but snap. – To hate your own home?»

«Mandalore is not my home.»

«It could be» Koska softly interjects, putting a hand on your tight and squeezing it in warning. Let Bo-Katan do the talk. You push her away and bring the cup of water back at your lips to take a calming sip.

«Don’t believe everything you hear. – Bo-Katan beckons for your attention back to her with a level, stern voice. – Our enemies… they want to separate us, but Mandalorians are stronger together.»

«That’s not my plan. I’ve been quested with returning this child to the Jedi.»

«And what do you know of the Jedi?»

«Nothing.»

You nearly snort in your water at his bluntness.

«I was hoping you would help me by Creed» he continues, pressing the little creature a little closer to his abdomen. He surely has some nerve to pretend things based on a Creed he knows so little about.

«I can lead you to one of their kind… – Bo-Katan promises and both you and Koska frown in surprise and confusion. She’s not referring to Ahsoka, is she? You haven’t heard of her in months. – But first, we need your help on our mission.»

What?

«Axe is still weak and can’t come with us, but we need a fourth member on the team for the plan to go smoothly.»

«What? – This time, you say it out loud and nearly jump on your feet, because you’re the one that always goes on missions with Axe and that only means you’ll have to work with the Child of the Watch. – Bo-Katan we don’t need him. I can do it on my own.»

«No, you can’t.» You’d feel hurt by Axe’s quiet statement, if not for Bo-Katan’s next words.

«I won’t risk your life unnecessarily. I already lost enough soldiers in this crusade.»

«And I refuse to cooperate with him!»

«But you will, because that’s an order.»

«You can’t-» Your voice trembling with ire, you snap your head towards the Child of the Watch when he squares his shoulders and meets your gaze with equal, scorching intensity.

«I very well can. I am your commander. You decided to submit to me and now you’ll have to obey.» Bo-Katan’s voice is harsh, green flames liking at her irises, and you so rarely ever saw her this close to losing her temper.

You furiously shake your head, but drop yourself on your box, fuming and refusing to look at any one of them. Taking him to the hideout is one thing, but working side by side with him? Why is she forcing, torturing, you like that?

«The plan.» Koska brings the focus back on the mission, but you’re barely listening, now. You can feel Axe’s worried eyes on you, but you keep puncturing the table surface with your glare.

«An Imperial Gozanti freighter is being loaded as we speak and it’s scheduled to depart tomorrow at first light.» Bo-Katan answers, once again collected and in utter control of the situation.

«So we stow away?» It’s the Child of the Watch tense question and Koska snickers, curling her long, black braid around her strong wrist.

«We wouldn’t need you for that, vod.»

«We’ve been hitting them pretty hard – Bo-Katan interjects. – Now they scan for life forms as a precaution before pushing back.»

«With our numbers, we need the element of surprise» you comment with a clenched jaw, still refusing to look up. Your commander nods at you, anyway, probably accepting your terse contribution as an implied apology.

«The freighter will maintain trawling speed while inside the shipping lanes and then ascend in orbit. We’ll jet up when they’re cruising in atmosphere. The tower won’t allow them to climb until they’ve left the port’s airspace, so we’ll use that time interval to our advantage.»

«Troopers?» The man in full beskar armour asks, his tone not giving away any particular emotion, but he, too, must be upset at the idea of teaming up with you.

«A squad, two at most.» Axe shrugs with his good side, wiping the fever sweat from his forehead.

«Should be an easy job.»

«Indeed.»

«So why do you need a fourth man?»

«We’ll have to split up – Bo-Katan explains, starting to toy with her bowl once again, sharing a look with Koska and you, when you eventually sit upright. – Two will take care of the flight deck, the other two will draw the attention away from them.»

«They’ll play bait» he realizes with a low sigh.

«Yes» you confirm with a curt nod and a sharp voice.

«Guess who’s going to do it?»


End file.
